Balcony
by klokateerlazarus
Summary: A cozy scene between Pickles and an OC, Salia Elson.


_Takes place during the six-month hiatus in Motherklok. The band is in Tokyo for a while. Around this time Pickles is starting to realize that he might really like this chick. She s certainly not bad looking._

At some point in the middle of the night he peels himself out of the sweaty sheets and goes onto the balcony for some air. Tokyo, as always, is very nice this time of year, so there's no need to throw on anything other than a pair of boxers. He leans over the railing and looks down. Like any other huge city, the early hours mean nothing and the streets are still busy with tourists and young women roaming in giggling packs. Of course, this high up you can't see them but the collective din reaches up and is soothing, in a weird way. He really likes Tokyo, could see himself living here someday. Maybe settle down with some slutty Asian strippers, have a condo up here in the nosebleeds. Could be worse. The wind is great, cool enough to be refreshing but not enough to chill. There's movement on the balcony to his right. A woman in a tank and shorts steps out, closes the door behind her. She notices him, nods. It's Elson. Maybe her date snores too. He gives a little wave. She lights up a cigarette and leans on the railing. "Hey," he says. "Hi." For some reason he feels self-conscious. He kinda wishes he'd worn something other than just underwear. Too late now, though. Maybe he can distract her.  
"Nice night." What a lame fucking thing to say. What are they, people waiting for a bus? It's all he can think of, though.  
"Mm."  
Watching her smoke is making him jones HARD. She must be a mind reader because she comes the edge of her balcony- which is only a window's width from his, and extends a hand. She s offering him one. "Oh, thanks!" He reaches across. Their fingers touch. He lights up, draws deep, hands the lighter back. They stand in silence, smoking and enjoying the night.  
"So... You got a date?" He gestures into her room. She seems to find that funny.  
"No." She draws, exhales. "And yours?"  
"Oh." He kind of wishes she hadn't mentioned it. Suddenly he thinks it might have been better to just come back to the hotel alone. He doesn't even know this chick's name. All he saw was a pair of fake tits and decent hair. "She's uh. Fine. Y'know." He makes some vague gesture that doesn't mean anything. Elle takes a last drag, stubs the butt out and tosses it over the side. Leans her arms on the railing and watches the city move under them. There are so many sources of light that they all blend together into a bluish pink color that plays with the shadows on her legs, the hollow of her back. She's pretty striking like this, when she's not covering everything up with clothes and gun holsters. She's in great shape, much better than the chick he brought home. He's no stickler when it comes to weight but he has to wonder what it might be like to have Elson s arms wrapped around him instead of the doughy ones his date flung around his neck like an attempted homicide. She has nice legs, too. Elson. They re long and lean. Great legs for dresses, shorts. The skin is flawless, smooth. She glances at him. He's staring. "Uh. You got another one? Of those?" He clumsily thinks on his feet.  
"All out." She says. She hooks a thumb behind her- should I go get more?  
"Oh uh- no that's fine, I was just-" He laughs awkwardly and shrugs. She cracks a small smile at his expense. "I mean- I wouldn't MIND getting more. If you want we could-" The door behind him slides open, grating on the track. It startles him. An artificially caramel-colored woman- her skin even more plastic-looking next to Elle's natural warmth- with massive fake breasts and hair that belongs in the 80s steps out into the night. In the rose-light he sees- to his dismay- that she's easily pushing fifty. In the bar he would have sworn she was no more than thirty. Jesus. He shrinks away from her when she comes to stand next to him. "Hey sweetie," she coos. "Got a cigarette for me?"  
"Uh, no. Sorry." She makes a noise, ugh. "Well what about coke?"  
He has no idea what to do. Briefly considers just telling her to fuck off. But when he looks over at the other balcony, Elle is gone. Fuck. God, suddenly he's so pissed at this woman. Her makeup is smeared. He's briefly, overwhelmingly disgusted by everything about this chick. Then she grabs him by the cock and basically takes away any free will he might have had. He does, in fact, have more coke, and after a few lines she starts to look thirty again. He forgets the weird revulsion until the next morning, when he wakes up in a damp spot and kicks the stupid broad out. Who wets the fucking bed at that age? He doesn't tell anyone, though. He'd rather just forget the whole thing. It s not until the next night when he goes back out onto the balcony- leaving another, different girl in the bed- that he realizes. Her balcony is empty this time, the curtains drawn across the door. He stares at it for a while and suddenly it comes to him: She didn t bring out a pack. Which means she had the second one the whole time. Which means she was thinking of him. Maybe waiting for him? It s kind of a thrilling thought. He takes in the night turning it over and over in his head until he gets cold. Kind of disappointed, he goes back inside. Kicks the girl out. When he s closed the door on her- cutting off her shrill insults- he s relieved for the quiet. He looks outside one more time. The balcony is still empty. Fuck.


End file.
